


made of breath and skin

by sprx77



Category: Naruto
Genre: Abuse of Kamui for sex, F/M, Frottage, It's all Tobirama's fault, Izuna is the only Uchiha who can top, M/M, Manhandling, Obito's in the founder's time, Requited crushes, Shisui is proof that Uchiha blood runs true, Sumigakure Halloween Event 2017, The truth serum not the time travel, Time Travel, Truth Serum, making out against a wall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 02:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprx77/pseuds/sprx77
Summary: For the Sumigakure Halloween Event 2017 Prompt: "Whoops" (Magical mishaps).Izuna is dosed with truth serum (it's all Tobirama's fault) and tries really, really hard to avoid Obito, mostly because he wants to climb the scarred man like a tree. And maybe rub his dick on those scars. Touka laughs and laughs.





	made of breath and skin

There are certain things that make a man fear for his life. Hurricanes, deep space, the depths of the sea, the concept of not existing, a desperate man with a sharp knife--

Senju Tobirama, making an interested noise from across the breakfast table, just after you’ve swept into the kitchen and grabbed the first cup of coffee you saw, even if it was in your older brother’s hand at the time.

Ignoring Madara’s noise of betrayal, Izuna rounds on Tobirama with wide eyes, empty mug clutched tight in his hand. He hasn’t even lowered it from his lips.

“It’s nothing,” Tobirama denies absently, which Izuna doesn’t buy for a  _ minute _ .

Madara gets over himself long enough to catch on, zeroes in on Tobirama-- who adopts a mulish expression almost instantly. Izuna groans deep in his soul.

_ “What did you do?” _ Madara demands, shrill like a disturbed hen.

Madara snatches the cup out of Izuna’s hand and makes a show of examining it.

Tobirama’s eyes roll heavenward.

Izuna begins frantically running system diagnoses, straining to notice any immediately apparent changes and mentally cataloguing how he feels-- checking every functioning organ against a hastily conjured list.

“You drugged my coffee!” Madara shouts, three levels louder than needed.

“Obviously,” Tobirama returns, sniffing delicately before returning to his tea.

“Again!”

“It was only the once.”

“And the tea, and the dango, and the--” His face screams  _ why are you like this _ .

Tobirama cuts him off with a sigh.

“I don’t know what the side effects will be.” He says to Izuna, then levels a droll, pointed look right at Madara, “Animal trials haven’t started yet.” 

Izuna gets out of dodge a moment before things start flying, ignores the sudden explosion of sexual tension and rage in the room. He ducks back in to tug Tobirama out of the carnage.

Tobirama, inexplicably, leaves his body-- no. A second version of Tobirama escapes his skin when Izuna pulls, the twin allowing itself to be  _ shunshined _ away. 

Izuna is already committed to the burst of precisely applied chakra, doesn’t have time to so much as yelp before the triggered jutsu yanks them.

_ Why are you like this _ , he wants to shout.

He’s not Madara, so he pushes down the urge, disregards this worrying new facet of Tobirama’s evil genius to focus on the one directly preceding-- they’re on the same side now, after all, even if Tobirama without the distraction of war has  _ entirely too much time to himself _ \-- and acquire some answers.

“What really happened in the animal trials?” He manages.

They’re on a rooftop not far away. The clone doesn’t look any less solid in direct sunlight.

“Increased heart rate,” Tobirama answers without missing a beat. “Low blood pressure. Vasodyalysis. I don’t know what it will do to a human, particularly to your voice. The mice all survived with only minor effects.”

Izuna gives him a furious and unamused look until he sighs.

“And I will have the antidote prepared by tomorrow, though it will most certainly wear off by midnight. The symptoms were supposed to be so subtle only someone  _ looking _ for them would notice. Moreover, I know your brother’s baseline.”

Izuna points at him.

“Stop drugging my brother!”

The clone stares at him, defiant, before vanishing. There is no elemental dispersion, no splash of water-- as he’d been expecting-- nor any other earthly indicator of his presence.

They  _ have _ to find something for Tobirama to do in peacetime.

(The Senju and the Uchiha make Tobirama hokage out of  _ self defense.  _ He needs to occupy his time in the busiest and most productive way possible.)

At first, the strange potion has no effect. Izuna walks the streets as he usually does, nodding easily to black haired clansmen and forest-clad Senju alike. The village is growing day by day. Already there’s talk of yet more clans joining them.

Soon, though, he notices a creeping heat sliding up his spine. True to Tobirama’s word, it’s so subtle he might not have noticed if he wasn’t waiting for it. 

With the sun still low on the horizon, the sky more pink than blue, he safely rules out simple noon-day heat as the cause. Nor does he feel particularly ill. If his pulse is racing, it’s because a low fever is  _ frightening _ in most circumstances, indication of wound-corruption or blood poisoning or even worse.

Usually, such a thing would have Izuna more worried, a hand of ice clasped around his heart for fear an ague will take him to his deathbed. Even with the knowledge that it’s due to the potion Tobirama fed him, he should be more concerned than he is.

The warmth under his skin proves more distracting than it should be.

Izuna  _ does _ avoid the gaggle of Uchiha children he otherwise is delighted to entertain, though, taking to the scattered roofs and trees with clumsy maneuvering. Compared to Tobirama he might as well be a farmer, and the thought is infuriating.

Truly, the best part of their tentative alliance is learning how the hell the Senju took to the trees like monkeys-- always ready with an ambush from above. Unsurprisingly, it’s also Tobirama’s fault. The bastard can walk on water as well.

Izuna has privately resolved to attain the same level of competence, even if he has to die trying. He’s still got a long way to go and hasn’t had much time to practice, but-- there.

He lands shakily on a limb, too high up for comfort, and ignores the uneasy feeling in his stomach in favor of memorizing the way chakra feels in his feet. His  _ feet _ . Ugh.

“Aren’t you one of the only ones who  _ doesn’t _ run from the clan kids?” A voice demands, from far too close.

Izuna squawks like Madara, will deny it unto his dying breath, and nearly falls to his death before he manages to grab a decent chunk of chakra and shove it to his soles at the very last second.. It’s very much  _ not _ second nature and in fact feels awkward and terrible.

He’s gonna figure out how the fuck Tobirama knows where people are all the time, too, if people keep sneaking up on him like this. He’s not even safe sixty foot off the ground! That, or--

“I’m gonna put a fucking  _ bell _ on you!” Izuna snarls. It comes out an octave higher than his usual voice, betraying his utter breathlessness.

Obito looks supremely unimpressed.

Naturally, he looks as at home in the tree across Izuna as he does  _ growing _ one. Because he has  _ Mokuton _ . One day, the skin on the back of Izuna’s neck will stop standing up whenever he sees the guy, plants bending toward him wherever he goes but a sharingan whirling in his eye as often as not.

One day, he’ll stop lying to himself that it’s because Obito’s a  _ threat _ .

Actually, Obito looks  _ more _ at ease standing against gravity than he does using wood-release, or any technique for that matter. He doesn’t even seem to be  _ thinking  _ about it.

Izuna takes heart that  _ someone _ other than Senju-godsdamn-Tobirama came up with the skill, even as he dedicates an atrocious portion of his attention to maintaining his own sticky chakra. Most shinobi are fit and well-balanced, but he doesn’t like his odds of staying up here without the cheat. One stray gust...

“I can’t risk infecting them with the magic potion Tobirama fed me earlier,” He says absently, eyes on his feet.

Two seconds later, the admission registers. He hadn’t  _ meant _ to say that!

Obito barks out a sharp laugh, though.

“You drank some bullshit concoction of  _ Tobirama’s _ ?” He asks. “For the love of all the gods,  _ why _ ?”

“I didn’t  _ know _ he--” Izuna breaks off in frustration, nearly stumbles as his chakra fluctuates oddly. “Tobirama sometimes spikes Madara’s morning coffee, apparently.”

“The lesson here being...?”

“Shut  _ up _ , Uchiha,” Izuna scowls, hotly. “I don’t need this from you today. Your snark makes me think of pinning you to a bed.”

“I--  _ what _ ?” Obito looks struck dumb.

Izuna flushes, but can’t stop his next words no matter how much he tries.

“More than I already want to, I mean.”

While Obito stares, mouth open, Izuna tries to take it back. He tries to say  _ anything _ .

_ I didn’t mean it,  _ morphs into “I like it when you’re a little mean.”

Increasingly panic-stricken, he tries a denial. Or to laugh it off.

“You have pretty eyes,” He blurts out instead.

He doesn’t even check Obito’s response for that one.

Izuna does the prudent thing; the only thing he can do in this situation.

“Bye!” He shouts, half-stunned it comes out properly.

Then he turns tail and runs, dropping back to ground level as quick as the branches can take him-- which isn’t very. Still, no one follows.

He counts it as a win.

-

Izuna slams into the Senju’s second largest house like the hounds of hell are chasing him. He’d avoided literally everyone he passed on the streets, ducking into the clan home so fast he doubts the guards posted saw more than a shadow out of the corner of their eyes.

It would be a security risk if he weren’t one of a handful of people capable of moving so quick-- the Uchiha answer to Tobirama’s nonsense-- and uniquely motivated besides.

The house is empty.

To his growing frustration, so is Tobirama’s lab in the basement.

There is no sign of cloak nor hair of his brother.

Finally, Izuna finds a note scrawled and stuck onto some sort of apparatus in the kitchen, a large metal box that radiates cold. It wasn’t there yesterday, though he vaguely recalls seeing it in the chaos of this morning.

_ Brother _ , it reads in Tobirama’s tight cursive.  _ As I told you a fortnight ago, and again last week, and in addition, just yesterday-- We’re taking a much-needed break to the mountains. Surely you recall the cabin near the lake. If I see you before the week’s end I’ll be  _ **_severely_ ** _ displeased. Survive without us until then. _

There is no signature.

Izuna screams, just a little. When no one comes running, he shouts a lot. He supposes he sounds enough like his brother that the guards aren’t concerned. It’s about as heartening as you’d expect.

Flipping the note reveals another message, one Hashirama likely wouldn’t have checked for.

_ Brother _ , it reads in Madara’s bold scrawl.  _ The Senju isn’t getting out of making you a counter-tincture just because we’ve had this trip planned. He  _ **_swears_ ** _ the effects will leave your body the same as spirits do, or other affecting draughts, but I have him working on a cure just the same. Expect it with a falcon with the sunrise. _

Izuna relaxes, just a little. Though he doesn’t want to know what Madara’s holding over Tobirama’s head to ensure such compliance-- he really, really doesn’t-- he finds himself grateful all the same.

Just the  _ idea _ of being  _ unable to lie _ for the foreseeable future is a horrific one. It threatens to send him right back into the rictus of panic he’d felt looking at Obito’s surprised face.

The note crinkles in his hand.

As much as Izuna would love to hole himself in the empty house until this nonsense wears off, he can’t actually ignore his responsibilities of the day.

Taking a deep breath, he smooths out the paper and reattaches it to the bulky fixture.

At least he isn’t scheduled for a mission. He counts his lucky stars, few as they are.

-

Izuna makes it through half the day, speaking as little as possible and finally resorting to shunshining notes in and out of buildings when he needs to speak to someone.

More than being compelled to tell the truth, he’s discovered he’s also  _ compelled to speak _ . Any vow of silence shatters and dies the moment a stray thought crosses his mind, because the words leave his lips instantly.

Even worse, he doesn’t  _ notice _ half the time, his intended sentence morphing into what he didn’t intend to voice or his private thoughts being spoken aloud in the  _ middle _ of what he means to say.

Izuna’s horrified.

Touka is  _ delighted _ .

He’d gone to her because she’s the bluntest person he knows, always speaking her mind no matter whom she’s addressing. She prefers the bluntness in others, too, which  _ should _ be a comfort.

Somehow he’d forgotten her laugh is more a witch cackle.

“It’s not  _ funny _ ,” He protests, “I told the Elders that I hate listening to their bullshit, halfway through the session.  _ They see me as the polite, competent, reasonable brother.  _ Madara screams at them and then I listen to their complaints, nod, and do damage control. I do  _ damage control _ , Touka-- I can’t tell Elder Kashima that he’s a stubborn jackass!”

“Tobirama should give  _ everyone _ this serum. He should give it to me! I’ll talk to  _ our _ Elders.” 

“You wouldn’t even need it!”

Touka grins like a shark.

“So, this thing with Obito-- you finally told him you want to climb him like a tree?”

Izuna groans and covers his face with his arms.

“No,” He manages. “I told him I want him in my bed. Because I like it when he’s a little mean. And that he has pretty eyes.”

“But he--”

“I know! I  _ know _ he only has one eye, Touka. I know that. I’ve been thinking about it all morning. The only reason I haven’t pitched myself off the nearest cliff is because then Madara and the Elders would kill each other, and the village would burn down, and Tobirama would use the bodies in some new and creative but ultimately horrifying jutsu--”

Risking a look at Touka’s face is a horrible decision, because he sees wide eyes instead of humor at his own expense. Dread crawls through him.

There’s a beat of silence.

_ “Does Tobirama already have a jutsu that uses corpses--” _

“Not one that he’s allowed to use!” Touka shouts, forcibly shoving him back down onto the futon he’d tried to lunge up off of. She’s got one hand on his shoulder and swings her legs to cover his bodily.

Izuna groans, because--

“Why are you so  _ strong _ ? It’s not fair. You’re loud and bawdy and pretty and could  _ kick my ass _ . Marry me to solidify the peace between our clans.”

Touka blinks. Then she laughs right in his face, shocked and pleased.

“You don’t usually talk this much, Uchiha! Who knew that behind that quiet and reserved--”

“I’m not  _ quiet _ , I’m funny and charming--”

“-- exterior, you’re thinking about  _ sex _ ?”

“Touka!”

She shuffles them around so she’s got him in a proper straddle, callused hands around both wrists. They’re of a height, which is  _ another _ factor to how perfect she is, and somehow the serum doesn’t force it out of him.

Mostly because he moans instead.

“You’re so  _ pretty _ ,” Touka laments. “I’m going to make Tobirama invent me a jutsu that gives you soft girl parts so we can fuck like rabbits.”

Izuna chokes.

Then, because he lives in the timeline the Sage abandoned, he hears himself say:

“That sounds amazing, but until then I could eat you out?”

The moment becomes ridiculously charged. Izuna’s skin feels approximately one thousand degrees.

Finally she snorts.

“As tempting as that is, pretty boy-- you think you’d be satisfied with just that?”

“I think my soul would leave my body at such perfection-- no, wait. I totally wouldn’t be. And neither would you, since I’d be  _ talking _ . And taking a very hands-on approach, probably.”

She pats his cheek.

“One day, Uchiha.”

He groans, miserable.

“Please get off me so I stop thinking about how beautiful your tits are.”

“Will you, though?” She asks, curious as she complies.

“No.” Short, irritable.

Soft, round, gorgeous-- no.

Izuna tears his thoughts away.

“I can’t be anywhere near Uzumaki Mito until this wears off.” He announces.

Touka blinks.

“Oh, uh. Yeah. Wow. Definitely not. Good call.”

She sniggers.

“So Obito, huh?”

Izuna considers making a break for it. He’d had to dodge, hide, or flat out run away from the other Uchiha no less than fifteen times between morning and lunch, when Touka finally wakes up on her off days and could shelter him.

“Tobirama’s necromancy jutsu can’t be  _ that _ bad.” He muses.

Pity there are no cliffs near the sight they picked for Konoha, a pointed decision made so his brother doesn’t throw Hashirama’s off one in a fit, or vice versa.

-

Naturally, mere moments after he’s left the Senju district, Obito comes out of the shadows like an assassin and forces him against a shop’s back wall.

He’d known he couldn’t avoid Obito forever-- he had, however, hoped to make it until morning, just so he could explain without silver pressure on his tongue compelling him to blurt out his lewdest fantasies.

The attack has adrenaline and chakra racing through Izuna’s system, a knife-hand strike shot out with killer precision that is absolutely  _ worthless _ in the face of Obito’s speed. His back hits the wood before he even registers who’s pinned him, thoroughly trapped with one arm caught in an iron grip, the other slammed to the wall above his head by the wrist, and a warm body pressed to his none-too-gently.

Then Izuna registers the dark heat charged between them, the harsh breath in each other’s faces at the minute struggle, and the way Obito is in his space and the promise of violence and danger has yet to entirely fade from the air.

“If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.” Obito says, dry and quiet. 

It’s only a hold, no weapons drawn, but the entire confrontation puts him  _ vividly _ in mind of a kunai pressed tight to his neck, blood beading up with his ragged breathing. The low tone and the threat of it feels like cold steel and no escape.

Izuna has never been harder in his  _ life _ .

Obito is still looking at him, eyes intent and shadowed in the twilight.

It’s all Izuna can do to breathe.

“ _ Why _ are you avoiding me? What did I  _ do _ ?” It comes out harsh and half-snarled.

And oh, no-- apparently being asked a direct question makes it  _ worse _ than just the passing compulsion to speak, because Izuna doesn’t even have time to  _ form _ the thought, this time.

“You didn’t do anything,” Izuna admits, too fast.

Obito’s brow furrows. Izuna knows this, because it’s right in front of him. He’s got a couple inches on Obito and each one sizzles up his spine like a dirty thought all on its own.

His finger itches to smooth out the lines.

It just brings his thoughts back to where they’ve been looping this entire time: from the back of the of his wrists, held tight; to the fluttering heart behind his breast, trying to make the leap into Obito’s,  _ right there _ ; to the thigh between his.

That last has Izuna’s lips parting every time his thoughts even  _ flit _ to it, the threat of a moan tickling the underside of his jaw.

It’s maddening.

When Obito breathes, their chests press together.

When he speaks, his knee rocks forward and Izuna really  _ does _ moan.

“Then why--”

“Please get me in a  _ bed _ ,” He says, and then, because there’d been a  _ question _ \--

“Tobirama, magic potion-- actually a truth serum. Can’t lie. Gods, I want you.” The longer he talks the more he  _ says _ , so Izuna prudently clamps his jaw shut and focuses on Obito’s face, chasing every line and muscle movement for revulsion or horror.

The hands on Izuna’s wrist tighten. He babbles something, some brief prayer that’s mostly groans, arching into it.

Obito breathes out in one long, shaky exhale. His pupils are blown.

“That’s sexy as  _ fuck _ ,” Izuna finds himself saying.

And it’s-- he has to be honest with his body  _ too _ apparently because the temptation has become too much. He banks on that surprised expression being a  _ happy _ one and grinds against Obito’s thigh, breaking through the constant impulse with action like one finally breaks through an enemy’s guard.

Or, better, finally breaks through his own limits and figures out a new jutsu.

It’s certainly a  _ good _ thing, the grinding, pleasure skittering across his nerves and Izuna sucking in a helpless gasp. His hand’s find Obito’s shoulders-- he really, really hopes it was a ‘good’ surprised-- and he has to do it  _ again _ , holding on for balance.

Obito is shorter but  _ solid,  _ built like a godsdamned warrior, and he’s even got the scars to prove it. Izuna has had  _ thoughts _ about those scars, okay, and--

Shit, he can’t--

Izuna kisses Obito, just in time, groaning the words into a willing mouth so he doesn’t have to cop to that one, not  _ now _ when things are going so good-- for certain given definitions of ‘good’ but he hasn’t been set on fire or  _ literally erased from this reality _ with a glance-- fuck, but Obito is all kinds of hot and dangerous shoved in one lovely, scarred and muscled package.

The kiss was a desperate one, barely-planned, but it quickly shifts to perfect. Obito makes a brief sound of surprise then kisses back.

A gasp claws its way out of Izuna’s throat, pulling in air that  _ should _ clear his head but instead the oxygenated blood rushes straight to his  _ dick _ and fuck but Obito is right there, and he tastes a little like mint and a lot like desperation, presses Izuna into the wall with a readiness that has his toes curling.

Obito’s breathing is a ragged thing, hot and warm against Izuna’s lips when he pulls back and the sound that wings its way past Izuna’s lips is  _ broken _ , fuck but he  _ wants-- _

Everything Obito does is hopelessly erotic and some of that is the heat that’s been building in him since the morning but  _ most _ of it is the curiosity-fascination-admiration-lust towards that man that saved Izuna’s life, that has been building for  _ months _ , ever since he crash landed on a battlefield like a displeased god.

Nothing Izuna has learned of the man has dissuaded him of the opinion; he’s come into one hand with a cry muffled by the other, tangled in his sheets and Obito’s name on his tongue, from more than one fantasy of a heavenly prince looking for a mortal lover.

The thought of all that coiled rage and power in his bed, splayed out before him, trusting and willing and  _ bendy _ \--

“A  _ bed _ ,” Izuna repeats, though being pressed against a wall is a thought he’s had a thousand times if he’s had it once. And then, when Obito leans in for another kiss: “ _ Please,  _ I don’t want to come like this!”

It comes out with a touch of the squeak he couldn’t quite contain, panting and closer than he should be from just a bit of manhandling and a bit of frottage. It’s  _ Obito _ though and Izuna  _ can’t help it _ , the low heat of the damn serum drowned out or exacerbated by the blaze of desire Obito evokes in him without even trying, and fuck but Izuna  _ can’t _ \--

“Yeah,” Obito pants, rough and with the little quirked corner-smile of wet lips that has Izuna squirming back into the wall. Obito’s eyes darken for it. “Yeah, let’s find a bed.”

Izuna is about to suggest a shunshin, maybe, but before he can get the words out there’s a quasi-familiar tug and a sweep of  _ darkness _ , a dizzying wave that dips slightly then breaks with no warning, parting faster than it’d come about-- to reveal Izuna’s bedroom.

His  _ bedroom _ .

Obito can teleport directly into his bedroom  _ with no warning _ . Whenever he  _ wants _ .

“I’m never going to be able to touch myself  _ ever again _ without hoping you appear out of the shadows.” He admits, dizzy with the teleportation and lack of blood flow to his bigger brain.

He’s  _ hard _ and Obito is still holding his wrists, though there’s no wall behind him. Part of Izuna wants to  _ whine _ about that but a greater part is thinking of his sheets and Obito’s body, how both of them are fully dressed for some terrible reason.

Izuna brings his forearms down to hang on Obito’s shoulders.

Obito lets him, trailing fingers-- with a gentle, barely there touch that has Izuna shivering-- over his wrists and letting go. He settles them on Izuna’s waist, though, so he can hardly complain.

For his part, Obito snorts.

“Maybe I will,” He starts, voice low. “Maybe I’ll show up just when you start. Maybe I’ll join in.”

Izuna can imagine. Fuck, but it’s going to be all he thinks about next time he takes himself in hand. He  _ groans _ .

“There’s not really anything you can do to stop me,” Obito continues, watching intently. His thumbs dig into the soft flesh of Izuna’s hips, right above the bone, a promise more than a suggestion of being tossed around, a little.

“You can do whatever you  _ want _ ,” Izuna says recklessly, sliding his fingers back into Obito’s hair and pulling him in. 

Obito makes a interested noise as their lips meet again. Izuna tightens his fingers.

“Fuck,” Obito says, then shudders all over when Izuna does it again.

“Yeah?” Izuna asks. He dips his head, nips and then soothes the flesh of Obito’s neck, the unscarred side since he doesn’t  _ know _ how sensitive or not the scars are.

Obito  _ barks _ out a grunt, eyes squeezed tight shut. He tips his head back, an open invitation. Izuna gives into temptation.

The hands on his waist go from commanding to holding on out of desperation, and it’s a switch that licks along Izuna’s spine like fire, every time Obito tightens or relaxes his grip in response to a suck or a bite, shaking a little when Izuna breathes the gentlest of soothing kisses over the red-skin after.

“Gorgeous,” Izuna murmurs into the skin there. Somewhere along the line he’s lost the plot, skipped from teasing bites and sucking marks to pure kisses; hot, open-mouth and trailing up the flawless column of Obito’s neck.

He’s so  _ responsive _ and it  _ wrecks _ Izuna’s entire thought process, any plans he has for  _ after _ this, utterly lost in the moment. If an assassin came for him, he’d be a distressingly vulnerable target, but an assassin would have to get past  _ Obito _ and the man can trounce both Hashirama and Madara at once, so.

He does  _ nibble _ at the tempting line of Obito’s jaw, though, unable to resist. A harsh noise  _ yanks _ out of Obito, sounding pained and so of course Izuna does it again and again, tugging just a little at that perfectly soft hair--

The hands at his waist  _ clutch _ , like it’s all Obito can do to just  _ take _ this, and when Izuna can’t take any more he slides his hands back around to cup Obito’s jaw and kisses him for all he’s worth.

Obito goes pliant into it, leaning up just-so to reach, and there’s no resistance at  _ all _ when Izuna fucks into his mouth with his tongue, a dirty-hot tangle.

Izuna pulls back to see Obito’s eyes half-glazed and stunned, panting.

“Why are we still  _ dressed _ ?” He wonders out loud, drags shocky fingers down Obito’s neck to the collar of his shirt, high in Uchiha-fashion. He can’t resist stealing another kiss.

“Strip for me?” Izuna breathes, kisses from the corner of Obito’s mouth to the corner of his jaw, breathes warm and purposeful over the shell of his ear.

The bed is  _ right there _ and Izuna feels like he will physically combust if they don’t get onto it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm definitelynotaminion.tumblr.com, of course. This is part 1/2 because I wanted credit for the prompt, so i'm posting what I've got.


End file.
